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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949495">Two Sides Of One Coin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malfoysdarkness/pseuds/Malfoysdarkness'>Malfoysdarkness</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>X-Men - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A lot of pain, Angst, Bisexual Pietro Maximoff, Erik has Issues, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, Hurt Pietro Maximoff, I'm Sorry, Mental Institutions, Multi, Murderers, Pietro sleeps with everyone to cope, Self-Harm, Sociopath Jean Grey, hella angst, psychopath Pietro Maximoff, this can and will get dark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:48:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,255</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24949495</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malfoysdarkness/pseuds/Malfoysdarkness</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Westchester Manor. A beautiful building, rich in history. But now, teaming with life that was definitely something for the story books, though perhaps not the ones someone would read to their child at night. The kind of stories that you find in railway station bookshops, thrillers to get you through a tedious journey, but which end up sending a chill down your spine. Those kind of stories.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Azazel/Raven | Mystique (X-Men), Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Hank McCoy/Alex Summers, Jean Grey/Ororo Munroe, Jean Grey/Scott Summers, Pietro Maximoff/Ororo Munroe, Pietro Maximoff/Scott Summers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A New Start</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Westchester Manor. A beautiful building, rich in history. But now, teaming with life that was definitely something for the story books, though perhaps not the ones someone would read to their child at night. The kind of stories that you find in railway station bookshops, thrillers to get you through a tedious journey, but which end up sending a chill down your spine. Those kind of stories. </p><p> </p><p>Charles Xavier ran the Manor. He was in charge there. Most of the patients respected him. He was a kind man, believing everyone had a second chance at a good life. Of course, not everyone at Westchester Manor was a murderer. No. Some simply needed a lot of help to cope with day-to-day life. Help Charles was willing to give. He cared so much for his patients, even the ones that seemed to not come back to the light. </p><p> </p><p>The oldest patients at the Manor were the ones Charles trusted to keep the peace, when he couldn't. Yes, he was a telepath, but certain other powers could not be controlled by him. Raven was there, she kept an eye on things. She still had her bad days, but most were good. Charles had wanted to let her leave, though she had decided to stay, to help instead. Charles was grateful for her, she could hold her own over the other, bigger mutants. Charles was simply a man in a wheelchair, with a very strong mind. Not everyone respected that. </p><p> </p><p>"Charles, when did the new patients arrive, and why wasn't I informed?" </p><p> </p><p>Charles didn't raise his head from the paperwork. He saw Hank move into his line of vision, standing in front of his desk. Charles set down his pen with a small sigh. "They arrived last night. Four of them. Our youngest to date," he chewed on his lip. "And I didn't tell you then, because they were sedated. The police sedated them! Can you believe that?" </p><p> </p><p>"Yes," Hank replied, calmly. He was the voice of reason, for whenever Charles got too lost into seeing them as morally good. Not all of them were. "I can believe it. If they needed to be sedated, it means they're dangerous. Where are they now?" </p><p> </p><p>Charles leant back in his chair, feeling weariness creep into his bones. He'd been awake late, bringing in the new patients, then Emma had woken up from a nightmare, so he ended up sitting by her bedside until the early hours of the morning. </p><p> </p><p>"In their bedrooms, they'll be waking up within the next few hours," Charles picked up the file he'd been signing, handing it to Hank. Hank took it, and read the information aloud. </p><p> </p><p>"Peter Maximoff. Eighteen. Enhanced speed. Murdered six students at his high school, using his speed to snap their necks," Hank winced, closing the file. "Did he do it on purpose?" </p><p> </p><p>Charles shook his head. "I am yet to find out. When the police reached the scene, they found Peter not far away. He confessed to it, because there was video evidence, and several people had seen him do it. He wasn't trying to hide." </p><p> </p><p>"It says here that he was 'calm while in questioning'," Hank glanced at him. "Is that saying he felt no remorse in what he did?" </p><p> </p><p>Charles shook his head again. "Another piece of the puzzle I do not know yet, Hank. He is still sleeping. Until he is awake and I have spoken with him, that tiny sheet of paper is all we know about him. No known family, no friends. He lived in a care home for the first half of his life, then ended up on the streets. He managed to get himself to school every day, which I would have been pleased at, had he not been using the opportunity to cause more chaos with his powers."</p><p> </p><p>"What do you mean? Did he do more than this?" Hank held up the file. Charles nodded. </p><p> </p><p>"I called the school this morning. They said more than ten incidents have happened since Peter started at the school. All of them unexplained. Several fires starting, expensive items stolen and never returned, people hurt by an invisible force," Charles looked up at Hank. "Peter did it all. And I have no idea why." </p><p> </p><p>Hank breathed out, adjusting his glasses. "This is a serious case, Charles. He could destroy this place in a heartbeat, we wouldn't have time to react," he took another step forward, closer to Charles' desk. "We need to do this properly. Peter Maximoff needs to be watched at all times." </p><p> </p><p>Charles closed his eyes for a moment. "If we treat them like animals, they become more like animals. I will not lock him up. Maybe within the first days we can keep him away from the others, but we can't do that forever." </p><p> </p><p>"I didn't say to lock him up, he's still only just eighteen," Hank set down the file on Charles' desk. "We just need to keep our eyes, and your mind on him. With a mutant power like that, he could leave the house and we wouldn't know." </p><p> </p><p>Charles hesitated. "Well, that isn't exactly true." </p><p> </p><p>At Hank's raised eyebrow, Charles fiddled with the controls of his wheelchair. "I put him in Victor's old room." </p><p> </p><p>Hank paused. "Creed? You used his room? Why?" </p><p> </p><p>"Because when Victor was there, I had to put up an electromagnetic field around the room, to stop him breaking out. It can also be helpful to keep Peter contained in the one room." </p><p> </p><p>Hank nodded, but he didn't look exactly convinced. "Let's hope it works, otherwise we'll have a mutant on the loose." </p><p> </p><p>Charles chuckled, but it wasn't very humorous. The thought worried him. He didn't want to put Peter under lock and key, even with his powers. He was just a boy. Charles had to find out more about him first. </p><p> </p><p>A small spark flickered in Charles' mind and he smiled, moving his chair around the desk to the door. "He is awake. We can go speak with him first, then meet the other patients." </p><p> </p><p>Hank breathed out as he followed Charles, unable to help the tingle of worry running down his back. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Peter awoke slowly. It felt as if his whole body had been frozen in one place for hours. His bones ached and his muscles began to twitch, begging to move. He pushed himself into a sitting position, eyes opening and searching the room. It was fairly large and simply decorated, but rather pleasant. A desk sat in the corner, with a bookshelf, but the shelf was empty. No books. Ah, of course. Peter shook his head with a smile. Paper gets sharp. They wouldn't give him paper. </p><p> </p><p>His shoelaces were gone too. As were his shoes. He was barefoot, but they hadn't changed him into any weird hospital gown. Peter supposed it wasn't that kind of hospital. He still had his Pink Floyd shirt and jeans, and when he could tilt his head, he saw his silver jacket hanging on the back of the door. Maybe this place wasn't so bad after all. Once Peter could get up, he went for the door, but found he couldn't even go near it. Some kind of force was pushing him back whenever he got close enough to touch the door handle. Yes, they were smart. </p><p> </p><p>Peter ran twice around the room, but with no luck. The windows were locked, and looked like they hadn't been opened for centuries, though the view outside was pretty nice. He was on the ground floor, another clever way to stop him from attempting to kill himself. This place was no fun. Peter froze when the door clicked, instantly flopping back down on the bed, as if he was just chilling. </p><p> </p><p>A man entered, glasses and lab coat. Ah, there was the hospital feel. But the man behind him came as a surprise. Slightly long, brown hair, wheelchair, strange choice of hawaiian shirt. Was this another patient? Weird. </p><p> </p><p>"Peter Maximoff, is that correct?" the wheelchair-bound man said in a very posh British accent. Peter scrapped all of his original ideas. This guy was definitely in charge. What a laugh. </p><p> </p><p>"That's me. Don't wear it out, I've only got one name," Peter replied, resting his arms behind his head as he peered at them. </p><p> </p><p>"My name is Charles, I run things around here." </p><p> </p><p>Peter held back a snort, but didn't stop his own words. "Not doing much of the running part, are you?" </p><p> </p><p>Instead of an angry voice, or a slap which Peter had been expecting, Charles laughed. It wasn't a hollow laugh. It was a real, genuine one. It threw Peter, who could usually always know what was coming. </p><p> </p><p>"I didn't even realise I said 'running'! I say it every time we have new patients, I'm surprised no one has mentioned it before," Charles smiled, and Peter didn't exactly know how to react. </p><p> </p><p>"Oh, and this is Hank. He's the serious one out of us," Charles gestured to the lab coat man, and Peter raised one eyebrow in greeting. Hank simply nodded. A talker, certainly. "I think we'll start by talking a little more about your powers." </p><p> </p><p>This was an area Peter did know. He shifted slightly to sit more upright, but replied with a simple shrug. Charles took that as a yes, and leant back in his chair. </p><p> </p><p>"What are the reaches of your powers?" </p><p> </p><p>"What? You mean how far can I go? I can go anywhere. Anywhere on the planet," Peter examined his nails. He wasn't going to make it easy for them. If they were going to try and cure him, Peter wouldn't let that happen. He didn't need to be cured. There was nothing wrong with him. </p><p> </p><p>"Surely you must get tired, right?" </p><p> </p><p>Peter nodded. "Yeah, I'm not a robot. I just eat a lot, it helps," he replied. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hank jotting down some notes. Of course he would. He's a nerd, what a surprise. </p><p> </p><p>"When you killed those people in your high school, did you mean to?" </p><p> </p><p>Holy shit. The questions had gone from zero to one hundred really fucking fast. Charles' words had caught Peter off guard. He got to his feet faster than either of them could see him. "Is breakfast happening or are you planning on starving me?" </p><p> </p><p>Charles and Hank looked at each other, and Charles nodded. "I will bring your food up in a few minutes. It's nice to meet you, Peter." </p><p> </p><p>When the pair had left the room, Peter looked down at his hands. They were shaking at a speed so fast, to the human eye they would be vibrating. Peter took a breath and hid his face in his hands. Yes, he had meant to kill them. He'd wanted to kill everyone, though when it was done, seeing the twisted bodies on the ground had scared him. It was as if he finally saw himself. Saw how fucking messed up he was. </p><p> </p><p>Well, if they were planning on keeping Peter locked in that room, he knew he deserved it. That wouldn't stop him trying to escape, at any rate. Those questions were incredibly painful, and Peter knew that was only the start of them. </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>"Who else is new?" </p><p> </p><p>Charles rubbed his neck. "Three others. Scott Summers, Ororo Munroe and Jean Grey," he wheels through the downstairs halls, heading with Hank into the main common room. "Scott's powers manifested rather violently, just the other week. He got a lot of people hurt. He's no intentional killer, but our job is to help him control his powers." </p><p> </p><p>Hank nodded. "That doesn't seem too hard. What are his powers?" </p><p> </p><p>Charles breathed out. "Red energy blasts straight from his eyes," he glanced at Hank. "He hasn't been able to open his eyes since, without causing a lot of damage to anything around him." </p><p> </p><p>Hank rubbed his forehead, wondering not for the first time, how Charles had roped him into this. "So he's momentarily blind before we figure out a way to control his powers? Alright then. What about the two girls?" </p><p> </p><p>Charles leant back in his chair. "Jean Grey caused a bad car crash, which killed her parents. She was aware of what she was doing, and even though she was in the car at the same time, she was completely unharmed." </p><p> </p><p>Hank breathed out, taking a seat with Raven, who had begun to listen. "A darker case, then? Like Peter." </p><p> </p><p>Charles nodded. "I don't know much about Ororo's case, but apparently she had used her powers to electrocute several men, in self defence." </p><p> </p><p>"Why is she here, then? She was protecting herself!" Raven said, her jaw tightening. Charles hesitated.</p><p> </p><p>"The police asked me to take her instead, mainly because she is a mutant, and she used her own powers to do it. I like to believe this is giving her a second chance. She isn't going to prison, she's just here with us," Charles replied. He felt the awakening of several other minds and nodded, glancing around at the group of older mutants in the common room. </p><p> </p><p>"All four of these are sensitive cases. None of these young people are like our other patients," Charles lowered his voice slightly, looking at Raven and Hank. "We need to treat this differently, but also give them exactly the same amount of care. Perhaps even more. They need it." </p><p> </p><p>"And what if they don't accept it? What if they don't want to be helped?" Hank asked, hesitantly. </p><p> </p><p>Charles didn't want to think about that outcome. </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Fuck.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi, this chapter has a pretty BIG selfharm warning, so proceed with caution. I'm sorry for the intensity of it, but this is a pretty dark fic.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Fuck. How had he ended up here? Scott could feel the soft edges of the mattress beneath him, hear the birdsong from outside the window. It relaxed him slightly, but Scott knew he was far away from home. He remembered being in police custody, hearing his father's angry tone, his mother's dismissive one. Had felt himself being tugged away and injected with something that instantly made him woozy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had to keep his eyes closed. If he didn't, the entire place could blow. However scared he was, he wasn't about to do that. Instead, he shifted to sit up, slowly, to get his bearings. Reaching out, he felt the edge of the bed, the side table and the radiator. Getting to his feet, Scott carefully stepped across the room, until his palms found the opposite wall. The room was fairly sized, though thankfully it had no large furniture to block his path. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hearing footsteps outside the door, Scott hurried back across to the bed. He took a few too many steps on the way over and tumbled onto the bed, smacking his face into the pillow. The sudden impact made him squeak and as he heard the door open, he pulled himself to sit up. The footsteps had stopped in the doorway and instead, Scott could hear a small, metallic sound sliding across the floor. A wheelchair? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Scott Summers? My name is Charles Xavier. You're safe here, you don't need to worry. We brought you here to help control your powers." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scott huffed a small laugh, fingers moving up to touch the bandage across his eyes. Of course, that was just to remind him to keep them closed. It would do no good in filtering the blast from his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Control what? These aren't powers, they're a curse! What good is laser eyes, anyway?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another, slightly younger voice spoke. "Scott, I may be able to create a pair of glasses to let you see again, without causing so much…uh, destruction, but it will not be done quickly." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the sound of a possible help to his newfound ability, Scott let his shoulders relax slightly. "Where am I? What state is this?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The older voice spoke again. He was British, extremely so. "Westchester, New York. This used to be my family home, before I converted it into a hospital for mutants." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scott nodded. "A mental hospital. That sounds about right," he turned his face away, over to where he guessed the window was. "I'm stuck here with other lunatics, yes?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A slight hesitation. "There are others here, others your age. I'm sure you will meet them in time, but at the moment I hope you will adjust to your room. It is getting late, and you are surely tired from the effects of sedation. I'm sorry they brought you in that way, I'm very against it."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The British guy sounded genuine, but Scott didn't trust anyone at the moment. Especially when he couldn't see. He simply nodded, leaning back against the pillows on his bed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Cool. When's dinner? It better be good." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A slight chuckle. "Well, Hank is cooking tonight, so expect beans on toast. He can do no better." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The young American guy huffed in reply and Scott mentally put the name to the voice. A few moments then passed, and Charles seemed to realise that Scott wasn't in the mood for talking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"We'll leave you to rest, and bring your food up later. Tomorrow, you can meet the others and we can start to work on your training." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Scott just shrugged in reply, and once they left the room, he let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. Rubbing his forehead, Scott rolled onto his side. This was a shithole, no matter how 'nice' Charles and Hank were. It was a fucking mental hospital. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A sudden knock on the wall beside his head made Scott jump. He sat up quickly and listened. When the knock happened again, Scott knocked back cautiously. He heard a muffled laugh from the other side of the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Glad to know you're up. What's your name?" called the voice. Male and young, but it was too distant to tell anymore. Scott shifted on the bed, ear close to the wall. At the question, Scott almost hesitated. The other people there would know him eventually. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Scott Summers. I just arrived," he replied, raising his voice. Silence, before the voice spoke up again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Nice to meet you, Scott Summers. I'm Pietro, though most people just call me Peter." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The guy sounded nice. Sounded normal. Truth be told, Scott didn't know what crazy people were supposed to sound like. Maybe they sounded just like normal people. That idea was frightening. Scott didn't reply. He didn't want to be there. He couldn't even see these people, couldn't tell if they looked pleasant or not. Scott felt incredibly vulnerable. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter knocked again on the wall, and Scott clenched his eyes shut, laying back down on the bed and pushing the pillow over his head, to block out the sounds. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey, dude, you in there? Aw, c'mon man. Don't leave me…" </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Peter sighed. Alone again. He sank back on his bed, eyes on the wall where he knew Scott Summers was laying against. The boy sounded frightened. It made sense. Why wouldn't someone be frightened when they ended up in an asylum? Especially at their age. They should be going out drinking with their friends, getting tattoos and making stupid decisions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Stupid decisions which didn't involve killing. Yeah, Peter failed that part. He breathed out, his eyes flickering closed for a few moments. He'd ran around the tiny room as much as he could in the last hour, trying to get out his restless energy. It wasn't good for him to be locked up, and he knew it'd start getting dangerous soon, if he wasn't allowed to properly stretch his legs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter's mutation made time so much slower for him. Since Charles and Hank had left, he'd explored every inch of that small room, finding every crack in the skirting board, every spider web, every speck of dust on the carpet. Also, he'd found the room was bare of anything he could use to hurt himself. No wonder the place felt empty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter had a bad history with self harm. His arms were littered with scars, and on the side of his thigh was the word 'dead' carved into his skin with a pocket knife. That was him at his lowest, in moments when he could hardly hold his head up for fear of falling. Most of Peter's cuts had faded now, as he hadn't relapsed in months. Months until today. He didn't need a knife anymore to harm himself, though Charles didn't know that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could hear the screams in his mind, the terrified shouts of students running from the scene, the scene with bodies on the ground, their necks snapped by an unseen force. They'd known it was Peter. He had never hidden his mutation, almost showed off with it. God knows how he regretted it. Not the killing, he regretted being so frivolous with his powers, flaunting them wherever he could. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Stupid," Peter mumbled, shifting to cross his legs as he sat on the bed, staring at his arms. If the staff found out what he could do, they'd likely try to lock his hands behind his back, so he couldn't hurt himself. Peter didn't care about that now. The voices were getting too loud, Peter couldn't block them out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Slowly, he traced his thumbnail over his forearm, down the centre, following a vein. He never went too deep, death frightened him too much to contemplate suicide. At least not now. He used to have no care whatsoever. Now, Peter knew he cared too much. Peter watched carefully, letting his hand speed up gradually, pulling his thumbnail across the pale skin, lightly smattered with lines. With his superspeed, his nail could become as sharp as a blade. When his hand was almost a blur, Peter drew in a sharp breath, red colouring his vision. A droplet snaked down and wet the crook of his elbow, soon followed by another. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The realisation of what he had done began to scare Peter. He glanced around quickly for anything he could use to stem the bleeding. His t-shirt was black and wouldn't stain, so he used the hem to press against the cut, which ran almost halfway across his forearm. Starting to shiver, Peter glanced at the clock on the wall. Less than three minutes until his food came. Plenty of time. Though, with a faster heart rate came more blood loss. Peter knew he couldn't die from the cut, but his body was shaking with adrenaline as he held his arm to his chest, wrapped in his Led Zeppelin t-shirt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Peter's hands began to vibrate and he rolled over onto his stomach on the bed, cradling his arm against his chest and feigning sleep as footsteps approached the door. Hank knocked before entering, a tray of food in his hands. Peter forced his breathing to calm and kept his eyes closed, praying no droplets of blood had fallen onto the grey sheets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I've brought your dinner, Peter," Hank's voice was soft, clearly believing Peter was dozing. Peter gave a grunt in response, the throbbing pain from his arm keeping him wide awake. He couldn't sleep now. Hank lingered in the doorway, clearly hoping Peter would say something. When he didn't, Hank quietly closed the door behind him and walked away. The instant the man was out of earshot, Peter got to his feet quickly and stepped across to the bathroom. It was pretty empty, but Peter used the toilet roll to wipe up the rest of the blood, and tied it as best he could, so it wouldn't stain through. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once the bleeding was stabilised, Peter allowed himself to breathe. Realising he was still shaking, he sat back down on the bed and took the tray in his lap. The food was still warm, and fairly delicious. Peter didn't have an issue with food, though. He'd eat anything, as long as it had flavour. He felt foolish, cutting himself on the first day at the hospital. It was as if he'd lost already. Lost the battle he'd hoped he'd win. But it wasn't a battle. It was a war. The battle was the first of many, and Peter was determined to win next time. To not let his demons take control. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Day One.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Right. Day one. A knock on the door signified he needed to get up, so Peter dragged himself into a sitting position. He slept in forty-five minute periods throughout the night, meaning he had been awake pretty early. Early enough to watch the sunrise. The cut on his arm had thankfully closed up, and Peter pulled on his silver jacket to hide any evidence of it on his arm. He only hoped he wouldn't have to take it off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was ashamed. It was unlike Peter to get ashamed, but he almost felt like he didn't want to disappoint anyone. Big laugh. He'd already disappointed the universe by his actions, they wouldn't care about one small cut. Especially not from him. It had used to be a common occurrence, though less so when Peter left the care home. It had been hell, living there. Anything was better than that home, even a mental hospital. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could hear Scott Summers through the wall. It was hard not to. The boy was cursing, as it sounded like he'd walked into the dresser. It was pretty big, how could he have not seen it? Peter shrugged, but after he'd styled his hair in the small plastic mirror in the bathroom, he no longer thought about it. The sun was well and truly up then, sending warm golden rays of light into Peter's bedroom. It made him ache to be outside, to have a proper place to stretch his legs. He could see the huge expanse of grounds from his window, the distant lights of a town, not far away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Peter? Are you ready to go downstairs and meet the others?" Hank's voice rang through the door and Peter got quickly to his feet, ruffling his hair slightly. As Hank entered, Peter nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets in an attempt to act casual. He was extremely nervous. What if he made a bad impression? Peter had never had many friends, but the ones he did have were very close to him. Perhaps he could make some like that here? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"All ready. Lead the way, man," Peter replied in an airy tone, attempting a bit of bravado. Hank simply nodded and flicked a switch on the other side of the door. The slight whirring sound faded away and Peter was able to step through the door. It made his idea of escaping rather less of a dream, but Peter knew he wouldn't get out so easily as that. Instead of running, he decided to follow Hank, who had begun to speak. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"The four of you are the youngest mutants here, at the moment," Hank said, leading the way down a wood panelled corridor, their footsteps making the floorboards creak. It looked more like an old school than a hospital. No white walls in sight. It calmed Peter. "Our older patients are a little distrusting of newcomers, so you'll just meet each other, until you get used to the place." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Is Scott Summers one of the new guys?" Peter asked and Hank glanced at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> "Do you know him? How?" Hank blinked. Peter shrugged, a few strands of silver hair falling into his eyes, causing him to brush them away with the back of his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"He's in the room next to mine, I tried to talk to him through the wall last night. He wasn't very chatty." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Hank nodded. "Yes, it would make sense. He's a sensitive case, but I'm sure you'll be able to talk to him at breakfast." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At that, Hank led Peter down an ornate staircase to a more comfortable dining room, with several round tables and chairs littering the space. Only a few people were there. Charles - talking with someone who appeared to be another member of staff - and three others, a boy and two girls. They were sitting together at a table, in uncomfortable silence. The boy was slowly putting food in his mouth, but occasionally missing, thanks to the blindfold across his eyes. The two girls were equally uninterested in their surroundings. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Scott? Jean, Ororo? This is Peter, the fourth and final member of your party," Hank introduced. Peter felt a little silly and didn't know how to greet them, so just went with a small, awkward wave. At Hank's gesture, Peter sat down at the table, one chair apart from Scott, who didn't look up. Peter didn't know why he wore the blindfold, but it would have made sense why he stumbled into the dresser earlier that morning. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Ah! You're all here. Wonderful," Charles' voice almost sang cheerfully as he wheeled over, setting a plate of food in front of Peter. No knife. Obviously. Just a plastic fork. It was a little humiliating, but the others didn't seem to care. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Not much is on the schedule for today, just getting to know each other and getting used to the house," Charles continued, not seeming to care that three out of the four patients looked not to be listening to him. "Scott, we will take a look at the strength and reach of your powers after breakfast, but until then, keep your blindfold on." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The boy nodded, keeping his head tilted down towards his plate. As Charles continued to speak, Peter took the opportunity to check out the girls. No. Check out wasn't the right word. Uh...look over? That sounded less bad, right? Well, they were both smoking hot, but that wasn't what Peter needed to focus on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What caught his eye at first when he'd sat down at the table, was that three out of four of the group were wearing band t-shirts. Pretty ironic really, how the only people Peter had found who liked the bands he did, were in a mental hospital. Scott was wearing a t-shirt with The Beatles logo on it. One of the girls, the alternative, dark skinned one had an AC/DC shirt. Awesome. Peter would get along great with them. If he ever had the guts to talk to them, that was. The other girl was a ginger, looking more 'ordinary' than the rest of them, but her eyes were glowing slightly gold, which was perhaps the reason why the dark skinned girl had moved her chair slightly further away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought made Peter snort aloud. The noise caught the attention of the girls, and even Scott, who tilted his head up and towards Peter. Peter swallowed. He never usually minded being the centre of attention, but this time he felt exposed to the world. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Something you'd like to say?" the dark skinned girl said, her eyes locked on Peter's face as she leant back in her seat. Peter shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his hands as he struggled to find an answer. He was saved by Charles, who shook his head. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"There'll be time for that later. Eat up, all of you, then we'll go outside. You all look like you could use some fresh air." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The idea caused Peter's mind to whir, the awkward moment instantly forgotten at the thought of running around in the garden. It felt childish, but Peter didn't care. He turned his face away from the rest of them and ate with vigor, finishing his plate of food in under two minutes. He was stared at again for that, but Peter simply took his plate over to the sink, washing it up and setting it on the draining board. He then turned to Charles, who had hardly finished speaking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Can I go outside now?" </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Strangers Underground</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fresh air. Thank fuck. Peter finally let himself breathe as he ran lap after lap around the mansion, rejoicing in the action. Charles had given him permission after breakfast, under the supervision of Raven, the hot blonde chick. Peter didn't mind too much, though he instantly scoped out all four edges of the mansion grounds. No way out, not even for him. There was some kind of force field electricity fence surrounding the property, similar to the one which had trapped Peter in his bedroom. </p><p> </p><p>So, no escaping. At least not now. In his speed, he was able to see what the others were doing. Scott was with Charles and Hank by the lake, discussing his powers, and the two girls were sitting nearby, against an old oak tree. When Peter went closer to inspect, he noticed hundreds of initials and words carved into the trunk, clearly over years of existing there. How interesting. He ran his fingers over the bark, and one in particular drew his interest. 'C.X. and E.L.' Charles Xavier? Not many people with those initials. That was a romantic carving, too. </p><p> </p><p>Peter straightened up, glancing back and zipping across to Charles. Who was the mysterious 'E.L' and why had they been here? Were they a patient? The carving was pretty old, maybe they didn't live here anymore. Peter's curiousity was heightened, but he wasn't about to ask about it straight away. It was his own little mystery, worth solving. Might as well do something interesting in his time there. When he went back into normal time, Ororo glanced up after noticing him appear again. </p><p> </p><p>"Peter, isn't it?" she said, leaning back against the tree, and Peter zipped back across to her. She only raised an eyebrow. He nodded at her question and shifted to crouch beside them, not wanting to sit in the grass and get bugs crawling into his jeans. </p><p> </p><p>"That's the one. Can I help you with something?" Peter asked, trying to stop himself from rambling. "I can help with a lot of things. I'm really good at general knowledge, random weird facts too." </p><p> </p><p>Jean snorted, rolling her eyes as she looked back over at Scott, but Ororo shrugged, giving Peter a small grin. "Weird facts? Give me one." </p><p> </p><p>Peter let himself think for only half a second, which was more than enough for him. "It's impossible for you to lick your elbow." </p><p> </p><p>Ororo frowned. "No, that's not a fact. Loads of people can lick their elbow." </p><p> </p><p>Peter shrugged, a light breeze ruffling his hair and running through Ororo's white mohawk. Peter had never seen a girl with a mohawk before. It looked good on her. "I can't, and I've never known anyone who could. Therefore, it's impossible." </p><p> </p><p>Ororo sat up, giving him a light shove, but not too hard that he lost his balance. They weren't allowed to fight, or even look like they were fighting. "You're just using your own bullshit logic!"</p><p> </p><p>Peter smiled. "It's gotten me this far in life, so it can't be that shit." </p><p> </p><p>Ororo sent him a look, one which reminded Peter a little of his old social worker. "Your logic has landed you in a mental hospital, or haven't you figured that part out yet?" </p><p> </p><p>Peter's smile fell slightly. For a moment, he had let himself think he was simply at a school. A school for mutants like him, like Ororo. She seemed to notice her words had affected him, and she shrugged. </p><p> </p><p>"It doesn't matter, anyway. This is so much better than any other mental hospital. Believe me, I've read so many books on asylums. We're lucky to be here." </p><p> </p><p>Peter didn't quite agree with her, but he couldn't deny it was a hell of a lot better than any human asylum. He joined the girls in silence for a moment, as they watched Scott open his eyes, which sent a red beam of light onto a tree in the other direction. Charles was almost beaming at the display, even though it had cost him one of his trees. Unable to bear the quiet any longer, Peter spoke up again. </p><p> </p><p>"I know you guys just arrived, like me, but do you know anyone here with the initials 'E.L'?" he asked. Both girls shook their heads, but a third voice spoke up. </p><p> </p><p>"You don't want to be asking questions about that, Peter." </p><p> </p><p>They glanced up to see Raven standing a few feet away, her arms crossed. At her words, Peter was even more invested in the mystery. </p><p> </p><p>"Why not? It was someone Charles loved, right? Are they still here?" he pressed. Raven shook her head, taking a step closer. </p><p> </p><p>"If you know what's good for you, you will never mention those initials again, for the duration of your stay here." </p><p> </p><p>Peter blinked, glancing at Ororo, who shrugged. "That's super creepy and ominous, but okay."</p><p> </p><p>Peter hesitated. He wanted to know more, but supposed he'd have to do his searching when Raven wasn't listening in to every conversation. Seeing Raven was staring daggers at him to answer, Peter nodded. </p><p> </p><p>"Okay, I won't ask anything or speak those initials," he said meekly, crossing his arms over his chest. When she walked a little further away, Peter leaned closer to Ororo. </p><p> </p><p>"Want to help me uncover this mystery?" he murmured. She glanced at him, a slow grin forming on her face. </p><p> </p><p>"Hell yeah." </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Charles? He wants to see you." </p><p> </p><p>Charles glanced up from his book, weariness seeping into his bones. The patients were all in bed and Charles had just settled down, preparing to fall asleep reading The Once and Future King, but of course, he'd been summoned.</p><p> </p><p>"I'll be right there, Hank," Charles replied, pushing back the covers and transferring smoothly into his wheelchair. It had been a long road, but the movement was a lot easier now than it had been previously. He pulled on a dressing gown over his nightshirt and a blanket over his legs, before he left the room and followed Hank.</p><p> </p><p> As Charles' rooms were on the ground floor, they luckily didn't disturb any patients on the way through. It was quiet, Charles could feel every sleeping mind. He didn't venture too far into Peter's, though, as the boy's mind moved too fast and could easily give Charles a headache. </p><p> </p><p>"Have you had any problems with him?" Charles asked softly as they went into the lift, and Hank pressed the button labelled 'B'. The man shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>"He has been as good as gold, but you know how it is-" he gave Charles a careful look. "-one wrong move and he's back to square one." </p><p> </p><p>"I know, I know," Charles sighed, rubbing his forehead. "I've stopped hoping for a cure, Hank. I just need to focus on keeping him comfortable and as happy as I can manage." </p><p> </p><p>The lift beeped softly and the doors opened, revealing the basement corridor, the colours blue and white. Charles had wanted it to feel comfortable and bright, but it always made Hank feel uneasy. Charles led the way down the corridor until they reached the end. Charles pressed a button on his wheelchair and the door unlocked, sliding aside to let them through. </p><p> </p><p>"I really don't think it's a good idea for him to be able to beckon you to him all the time, though," Hank bit his lip, following behind Charles like a faithful puppy. "You're not his servant, Charles."</p><p> </p><p>"He's lonely, down here," Charles replied quietly, passing the two guards standing to attention on either side of the inner door. He nodded to them and they let the two of them through. The glass between them and the patient was thick, but it was easy to hear through. </p><p> </p><p>Hank shifted closer to let his voice be heard by Charles only. "He's controlling you." </p><p> </p><p>Charles pressed his lips together and shifted his wheelchair closer to the glass, looking over at the figure in the corner. </p><p> </p><p>"Good evening, Erik." </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Erik opened his eyes slowly, uncurling from the floor. He took a few steps over to the glass and pressed his hand against it, close to Charles'. An automatic reflex, Charles did the same, their hands pressed together through the glass. </p><p> </p><p>"Charles," Erik murmured back, his voice low and calm, the same tone he had used to use when helping Charles fall asleep. Charles closed his eyes at the sound, breathing out. </p><p> </p><p>"Hello, old friend. How are you?" Charles whispered back. At his reply, Erik pulled away from the glass, breaking the spell. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm bored. You can't even give me a marble to play with?" Erik flopped back down on his bed and Charles shook his head. </p><p> </p><p>"I'm sorry, Erik. You know I can't give you any metal, however small," he gave Erik a small, sympathetic smile, but Erik wasn't smiling. He watched Charles like a shark, eyeing him, as if expecting him to dance a jig or juggle knives. </p><p> </p><p>The silence was what Charles was scared of. It was what he hated. Sometimes, it seemed like Erik was his old self again, sometimes he turned into a monster. And sometimes he just stared, as if he was looking right through him. It made Charles feel hollow inside. </p><p> </p><p>Charles cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "Hank said you wanted to see me? Is that what you wanted today?" </p><p> </p><p>Like a light switch had flicked in his head, Erik was back. He nodded, leaning back against the wall in a casual way. More casual than Charles was feeling, which led him to wonder how much Erik was faking.</p><p> </p><p>"No. I wanted to ask if you've found her yet. Has she come looking for me?" </p><p> </p><p>Charles' eyes flickered with uncertainty but he quickly attempted to school his features into calmness. Erik saw straight through his facade. He slowly straightened up, jaw visibly tightening. Charles swallowed. </p><p> </p><p>"You haven't even been looking for her, have you? Charles, you promised me you'd find her," Erik's calm voice was laced with poison, and Charles's fingers tightened around the armrests of his wheelchair. </p><p> </p><p>"Erik, I said I'd find her if you got better. You have made no improvement so far since I made that promise," Charles fought to keep his voice steady, but he was quickly losing composure. Hank was fully prepared to bring Charles out and not let him go in for several months, but he knew Charles wouldn't be able to handle that. </p><p> </p><p>Erik's grey-green eyes stared at Charles, unblinking. He strode up to the glass faster than was thought to be possible, but Charles didn't retreat. He stared back, pain and determination in his eyes. </p><p> </p><p>"Erik. My love…" Charles' voice faded into nothingness. He had nothing to say. He just wanted his Erik back. The one who came home every day with a smile, the one who never failed to hold Charles in his arms, even when in company. The memories made Charles' chest ache. </p><p> </p><p>Erik watched him, eyes analysing every movement as Charles turned away from the glass. "I'll be back in a few days to check on your progress. I love you," Charles managed to say, like he always did. As regular as clockwork. Erik tilted his face to the side, so he didn't see Charles leave. It broke him a little every time. He heard the heavy slamming of the door, realised he was alone once again. </p><p> </p><p>"Tread softly, Charles, because you tread in my dreams." </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Therapy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Want to tell me about your childhood? Any family?" </p><p> </p><p>Peter rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. The first of many dreaded therapy sessions with Hank and Peter was already begging to escape. "Can't you just figure it out without asking me? You're the genius." </p><p> </p><p>Hank smiled awkwardly, flicking his pen between his fingers. "I'd rather hear it from your mouth, than have the professor read through your mind." </p><p> </p><p>The thought made Peter squirm and he sat up again, causing Hank to smile properly. "Born somewhere in Europe, I don't know where. Someplace like Ukraine or Poland. That's what they told me. Grew up in DC, with a load of other kids whose lives were messed up." </p><p> </p><p>Hank nodded slowly, writing down a few notes. Peter tried not to read his writing upside down, but it was a habit. "A care home, right? How long did you live there?" </p><p> </p><p>Peter puffed out his cheeks as he thought. "Until I was sixteen. But it felt like eternity," he added with a crooked grin. "Was in and out of a few foster homes, but no one could handle me." </p><p> </p><p>"When you left the care system, where did you go?" </p><p> </p><p>Peter looked down at his hands, his fingers twisting together slightly, sleeves over his palms. He hadn't cut anymore since the first day, but it had taken a while to heal. He didn't want to be put under even more care than he was already. "I got a flat. Tried to figure my life out," Peter said, no longer messing around with his answers. "Great how that turned out, huh?" he shook his head. "I went back into school, but I couldn't help myself. I got into bad situations to try and fill the gap in my chest." </p><p> </p><p>Peter felt a little silly speaking it all to a guy he'd barely met, but part of him knew to trust Hank, however dorky the guy was. He seemed to care and understand. He stayed quiet as Peter continued to think of what to say next. </p><p> </p><p>"I didn't mean to kill them." </p><p> </p><p>Hank raised an eyebrow, glancing up from his notes at the sudden words spilled from Peter's lips. Peter didn't look at him, kept his gaze on his hands. "I didn't mean to - I didn't want them dead," Peter tried to explain, his mouth a little dry. He couldn't help himself but speak. "But they were shouting such horrible things. Suddenly I was running, running right at them and throwing them all to the ground, hearing their bodies crumple and their necks sn-" </p><p> </p><p>Peter jumped when the grandfather clock announced the time loudly, and Hank set down his pen. "I think we'll leave it there for today. Good work, Peter," he said, attempting a comforting smile, which Peter did not return.</p><p> </p><p>He got to his feet and left the room, going down the front steps into the grounds. Peter didn't realise he was crying until he was at the opposite end of the garden, near the far wall. He slid down with his back to the stones, knees pulling to his chest as he closed his eyes. With the house a safe distance away, he let himself sob, letting out all the fear, anger, frustration and pain he had been holding in since the incident. Peter could barely breathe, his chest rising and falling rapidly in his shaking state. </p><p> </p><p>Never before had Peter let himself feel all his emotions at once. It was incredibly overwhelming, but also freeing. When his body finally calmed, he untensed and laid his head back against the wall, swallowing hard and closing his eyes. He let himself listen to the birdsong in the trees above him, the rush of a stream not far away, the sound of cars on the road behind the grounds. Slowly, he breathed out, his body shifting down to lay flat on the grass, eyes flickering up to the sky, dotted with clouds. </p><p> </p><p>It was pretty much quiet for a while, and Peter was close to dozing off when footsteps neared him, and someone sat down close beside him. "Budge up," the voice said. It was Scott. Peter simply rolled his eyes and wriggled slightly to let Scott have space to sit down. </p><p> </p><p>"Of all the places in the grounds to sit, you decide right next to me is the best place," Peter said, shaking his head slightly, arms behind his head as he laid back once more. Scott shrugged, still blindfolded as he settled onto the grass beside him. </p><p> </p><p>"Not like I could really see, could I? I might have ended up sitting down on a hedgehog, or something else spiky," Scott replied, breathing out as he laid down on his back, their shoulders pressed together. Peter opened his mouth to question it, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. </p><p> </p><p>They laid together in silence for a while and Peter almost enjoyed it. He could feel Scott's body heat almost radiating off him, seeping into Peter's skin from their shoulders. They didn't speak, but they didn't need to. It was only when the breeze blew through that Scott said anything. </p><p> </p><p>"Ororo told me you were looking to find someone with the initials 'E.L'? I tried to ask Hank about it but he shut me down," Scott said, and Peter tilted his head to look at him. He was a little betrayed that Ororo had so easily spilled their secret, but supposed it might be easier with more people in on it. </p><p> </p><p>"Raven told me to back off when I mentioned it, so we might have to talk to some of the older patients," Peter replied, looking back up at the leaves above them. "If we are ever allowed to meet them." </p><p> </p><p>He saw Scott nod out of the corner of his eye. "Is it because we're dangerous? Or because they're dangerous?" </p><p> </p><p>Peter shrugged, the breeze making their hair ruffle. "Probably both. We're all mutants, so we're all a threat to each other, and probably ourselves," he glanced at Scott, taking a moment to really look at his face. "You ever felt like picking up a knife?" </p><p> </p><p>Scott shifted uncomfortably, his arms sliding over his stomach protectively, to hug his torso. "If you mean to hurt myself, then yes. To hurt other people? No. I'm not like that." </p><p> </p><p>"Yet you're in a mental hospital," Peter added, with a small grin. "How's that working out for you?" </p><p> </p><p>Scott sighed, sitting up. "I'll tell you when I'm done here." </p><p> </p>
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